


Errands Avoidance Fics

by xenokattz



Category: Man of Steel (2013), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Marvel 919, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-27 17:27:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenokattz/pseuds/xenokattz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every once in a while, I don’t wanna do stuff I need to do so I ask for prompts . Any prompt, any fandom, as many as you want & I’ll try to make a ficlet. If you want to ask for something, in any fandom you think I might know (or any others you think I can fake), please feel free to throw it at my <a href="http://xenokattz.tumblr.com">ask box</a>. </p><p>I'll need<br/>A) Character/pairing<br/>B) Fandom<br/>C) 6 words (can be random, thematic, a sentence, etc)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Darcy & Tony: Pretty Far for Apples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Darcy; Like that when I got there.

Darcy cracked her gum twice before leaning down to poke Tony Stark’s kind of oily head. “Look, it still works.”

Tony rolled his face deeper into the couch. “Not the way I want it to.”

"Oh, come on! You didn’t even know what you wanted it to do."

"I know I didn’t want to make giant George Foreman grill!"

Darcy put her fists to her hips. “Then you should have. Do you realise how much your roomies eat? I’ve probably saved your next staff meeting from devolving into a Pepto Bismol commercial.”

Shooting up to his feet, Tony threw his arms up and demanded, “How in hell did you look at the shell of the Mark 47 and think ‘sandwich maker?’”

"Genius," said Darcy. "I *am* your secret lovechild."

Tony sighed. “Some parents worry about sex, drugs & rock n roll. I fear Julia Child worship.”


	2. Genderbent Clint & Natasha: Jolene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Colleen Barton & Nikolai Romanoff, Avengers 919; Good luck charms & stringed instruments.

Colleen strokes the neck of her guitar exactly like she stokes the arch of her bow, Nikolai observes, and both instruments sing for her in acknowledgement of her love. Her calluses snag on the guitar’s frets, pulling a barely audible hum from the strings. But she has let the musical instrument wear its age in a way she’d never allow for her bow and Nikolai wonders why.

"You should buy a new one," he says, tapping the largest of the holes worn through on the guitar’s body.

Colleen grins up at him. “No way. Me and Jolene’ve been together too long. I’d never replace her.”

"Another few years and it’ll be more hole than instrument."

"Just means she’ll sound sweeter." Colleen strums a three-chord flourish. The guitar— Nikolai refuses to name it— sings like a middle-aged lounge bird, dark whiskey and rough edges. “ **You** know, Kolya. The best knives are the ones that’ve worn their shape into your hands.”

Nikolai knows Colleen doesn’t mean using the guitar as a blunt instrument but as a stiletto, subtle and fine, slipping between your ribs and piercing your heart between one breath and the next. She strums again, a full chorus this time, and Kolya— Nikolai— has to step back before he bleeds into her well-worn hands.


	3. Darcy/Steve: Pumpkin Spice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Darcy/Steve, Marvel Cinematic Universe; trust, lust, laugh, pumpkin, book, kiss

Back in the day, autumn for Steve meant rain seeping through layers of threadbare clothes, gargling onion tonics, and riding out the burn of mustard plasters.

"I know that look," said Darcy, looking up from her book.

He put the coffee mug one the table beside her. “What look?”

"That ‘whippersnappers these days don’t know how good they got it, by gum!’ look."

"Actually, I was thinking of onion gargles."

Darcy made a face. “Voluntarily?”

"It was supposed to get rid of my chest cold," said Steve.

"I much prefer my pumpkin pie lattes, thankyouverymuch."

"So do I. There’s coffee under here somewhere, right?" He dipped his finger in her overflowing cup of whipped cream and spices.

Darcy grabbed his hand and yanked, and for someone easily half his size, she could yank hard. She popped his finger in between her lips, her tongue curling around to the second knuckle to take back every bit of the whipped cream he’d swiped. And then some. Steve didn’t feel the cold any more but right now, he was downright sizzling.

"I’m really glad I found that home-made pumpkin pie latte recipe," he said.

With a laugh, Darcy said, “Not as glad as you’re gonna be in about five minutes. Pants. Off. Now.”


	4. Lois/Clark: Not a Piece of Meat, Y’know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Lois/Clark, Man of Steel; Lois wants Clark in a kilt

"What do you mean you’re not attending the Highland Games?"

Clark gargled and spat before answering. “Superman’s flattered by the invitation but I’m not sure it’s appropriate for him to keep accepting honours like that. It sends the wrong message.”

Lois paused in the middle of applying lotion to her legs. “First of all, can you please not talk about yourself in the third person? This relationship is complicated enough as it is. Secondly, what message are you talking about? These people want to thank you. It’s only polite to accept the thanks. Your mom would agree.”

"I’m really glad you get along with my mom."

"And I’m really catching on when you say things and mean the opposite."

Clark rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m just not comfortable with the idea, sweetheart. I don’t want people to think I’m doing this for the glory.”

"People will believe whatever they want to regardless of what you do," Lois said. "Welcome to the land of TMZ. My point stands. You should accept the Highland Games invite. They’re gonna give you a House of El kilt! That’s huge. Kilts are very huge. And honourable."

Clark narrowed his eyes at Lois’ tone. “Lois.”

"Clark."

"Lois, are you trying to get me in a kilt?"

Lois pressed a hand against her throat, her eyes wide and her mouth appropriately gaping. “Clark Joseph Kent, are you implying that I’m objectifying not only your body but the culture of a proud and ancient nation?”

"Not until you used those exact words, but yes."

"You have to admit, you have the legs for a kilt."

"I’m not going to wear a kilt, Lois."

"It’s a House of El kilt!"

"No, Lois."

"I won’t even mention traditional kilt underwear or lack thereof."

"Lois!" But Clark was laughing. He spread his arms wide, his fingers touching opposite walls in their condo’s tiny bathroom. "I already wear a skinsuit on a regular basis. This is as close as you’re getting to me in traditional Scottish clothing."

Lois eyed the precariously tucked towel around her boyfriend’s hips. “I… might be able to live with that.” Jumping on top of the sink, she pulled.


	5. Lois/Clark: Better Than Ice Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Lois/Clark, Man of Steel; Food play, Sexy, Fun, Playful, Dirty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Oh God, please don’t make me write smut on Tumblr)  
> (I can’t. My keyboard melts)  
> (Yes, it’s the Sarah Maclachlan song. She informed my adolescence, okay?!)  
> (My family reads my Twitter!)  
> (Oh my God, this is actually gonna happen why am I friends with you people & why did I start this like it’s my fault oh crap it is)

Pale green trickled down the hollows of Clark’s hips, following the trench cut low on his abdomen by the bones and tendons of his pelvis. Lois followed the trickle with her tongue. Some where in the vicinity of her eyelashes, his abdomen shivered.

"Pistachio," Lois said.

"The colour gave it away," said Clark, his voice timbred deep and slightly breathless.

"No, I know my pistachio and that is an excellent specimen. Your turn." She stretched to her right to a jumble of small bowls. Selecting one from the jumble on the left, she scooped a bit up with a spoon, keeping her eyes on him as she did so. "You’re radiating heat. It’s melting the ice cream."

"I can work with melted ice cream."

"It’s harder to play this with ice cream soup."

"Then we can change the game."

Lois pursed her lips. “We change the game when I say so.” Rolling on her stomach, she twisted her arm around to plop the mystery ice cream flavour as close to the small of her back as she could manage.

Clark crawled to bridge over her. His knees bumped her forearm. His thigh brushed her cheek. Lois nipped at the meatiest part of his leg and would have licked it all better but he drew his leg away.

"Only where there’s ice cream, remember?"

"What if I decided I want to change the game now?"

He smiled, then turned away to drop a kiss on the rise of her bum. She arched her back , her hips rising up to meet his mouth but he held her down by cupping her calves. “You’re making the ice cream go all over your back.”

"Part of my cunning plan," said Lois.

He pressed his mouth on her flesh, his tongue hot in contrast to the sticky coolness of the ice cream. He lapped at her, stroking her with kisses even as his hands stroked up and down her thighs. Lois bit her lip, eyes clenching shut, nails digging divots into her palms. His fingers didn’t quite trail far enough between her thighs, damn him, and he knew it.

"Maple," said Clark.

"Nope." Lois cleared her throat and tried again with less Marilyn Munroe. "Nope, I didn’t buy maple ice cream."

"It’s not salted caramel or dulce de leche. What about—"

Lois turned over. “That’s two guesses! According to the rules, you have to pay up.”

Tamping down laughter, Clark shuffled to his knees. He drew her legs around his shoulders, one hand cupping her bum, the other supporting her higher on her back. “I’m not really sure the consequences of this game are real consequences.”

"In a perfect world, we all win. That’s your thing right? Happiness and apple pie all around."

"Apple pie!" Clark slapped his forehead. "I can’t believe you found apple pie ice cream."

"Right. But it’s too late." Lois tapped his nape with her heels. "Get on it, baby."

"I like licking this better than ice cream anyway."

She fisted his hair and gasped as he tasted her very thoroughly.


	6. Lois/Clark: Penthouse (But not exactly THAT Penthouse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Lois/Clark, Man of Steel; ceiling sex, Lois can’t shut-up

So on top of being built like a brick wall, sweet like apple pie, and more intelligent that your average college grad, Lois is unsurprised to find that Clark Kent is proportionally stacked in the penis department. For a species that hadn’t had sex in millennia, he sure hit the jackpot. So did she.

And because she must’ve done something wonderful in a past life, Lois got to be the one to introduce Clark to the primitive joys of sexual reproduction, minus the reproduction because it’s only been six months and she’d made a degree out of ignoring her biological clock. (It was ticking, though, like BB gun pellets at her ear, every time she opened her eyes in bed and found him sleeping beside her, his mouth half-open, his curly lashes resting on high cheekbones, his hand curled around hers. She’d feel a pull in her chest and low on her pelvis, imagining a bookish little boy with his eyes and her freckles or a spitfire girl with his curls and her attitude. He’d take them flying, be so attentive and— and Lois would cut the thought off because… just… because.)

Clark made love with a gentleness partially stemming from fear. He hates the bruises he leaves on her no matter how much she assures him that she just bruises easily, the curse of fair skin. He watches, listens, studies her reactions and Lois knows she’s never had a lover as eager to please as him. He tries to make up for the occasional too-hard thrust or sweet-sting pinch by making her lose her mind as many times as possible before coming himself. She talks him through a lot of it still; telling him what turns her on turns her on even more; it’s a fantastic ouroboros of sexy times.

Lois is NOT gonna argue with that philosophy.

But when she wants to drive him crazy, when she wants to turn the man of steel into clay, Lois climbs on top of Clark and rides him. Slow, wet, one of his hands thumbing her nipples while the other thrums her clit, her nails trying to dig into his pecs. Lube drips all over the sheets— look, Lois is as turned on as HELL after the average of two orgasms a round but the man is not only long, he’s wide, and they’ve learned the stretch is more pleasurable when there isn’t as much friction— while Clark does his best not to lunge upward into her. He pushes out breathy “ah, ah, ah’s” right out of her diaphragm.

If she times everything right, they can last half an hour doing that until Clark can’t actually control himself any more and they float up to the ceiling. It’s unconscious and joyous— Clark loves flying most of all. Lois feels the stucco on her back, her legs dangle off his hips, and gravity pulls her down, tight, deep, delicious. When she comes, her knees shake in mid-air and she knocks her head back while Clark arches in a perfect swan, his tendons bulging, his hands braced on the ceiling.

It’s a good thing they don’t have upstairs neighbours.


	7. Lois/Clark: Accessory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lois/Clark (ClarkPOV), Man of Steel; Who knew neckties have multifunctional purposes?

Prior to coming up with this entire insane scheme, Clark wore a tie twice: during his high school graduation and at his father’s funeral. Both times, he’d borrowed the solid blue tie from his father’s closet. Lois led him by the hand through endless array of silk versus polyester, sheen versus textured, jacquard versus stripes.

"I’m all right with having three ties," he said as he flipped the price tags around. The back of his neck flushed. Lois had thrown easily two dozen ties into their shopping basket and she showed no signs of stopping. The cufflinks display beckoned.

"Ties are like shoes," said Lois. "You can never have enough."

"I only have three of those, too," said Clark. At her jaw-dropped expression, he explained, "I have work boots, sneakers, and my dress shoes."

Lois shook her head at him, lips pressed into a tight line of disapproval. “Shirts next.”

"Lois, please, it’s all right."

"Trust me, Clark, I’ll make you look good."

"I know you will, I just—" The heat coming off his neck could have fried an egg. He bent down close to her ear to say, "I can’t pay for all of this."

"Is that all?" Lois beamed at him. "I’m paying."

"I can’t let you do that."

"I’d like to see you stop me." Apparently now unburdened by any preconceived budget, she pulled shirts off the shelves by the armful.

"I really don’t feel comfortable with—"

"With what? Clothes that fit you? Natural fibres? A woman paying for your stuff?"

"With charity," Clark said. "I’ve had to beg before. Steal a couple times, too. I’d rather not take something I didn’t work for again."

Lois poked his chest. “You earned these clothes; don’t you dare tell me otherwise. The person who saved mankind from extinction should at least have a few nice suits. So shut up and let me pay.”

Embarrassed, he let out one final protest. “I don’t need all those ties.”

"Oh, those ties are multifunctional."

He arched an eyebrow.

Lois went up on tiptoe, her turn to whisper in his ear. “They make great sex accessories.”


	8. Clint/Darcy: Palms to Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint & Darcy, MCU; palm to glass, lights go out

The lights of New York City danced under Darcy’s palms. Her sweat barely slicked their choreography. Through the tinted glass of Stark Tower’s sub-penthouse windows, she could almost hear the city’s grinding rhythm. She ground one out, too, in heartbeats and caught breaths. Her nails buzzed against the wet spikes of his hair. His whiskers rasped against her belly.

The hard, sharp planes of his body jammed her up against the dark glass, his shoulders spreading her knees wide. The window cooled the sting of his teeth on her thighs. Darcy melted. Her curls stuck to the glass, seeking out stars through the city’s depths, kraken-like. She pulled on him, unwilling to travel up alone.

"Come on," she pleaded. When he didn’t comply, she pulled harder. "Come ON."

When he rose, salty sinew and grunted breaths, he covered the whole world. Clint sheathed himself in her body, his lips fastened on her mouth, and she clung on tight, waiting for the lights to go out.


	9. Lois/Clark: The Science of Ethanol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Lois/Clark, Smallville; Drunk Lois/Clark in “Fortune.”

Halfway between Smallville and Metropolis, Lois crawled on top if Clark’s lap and demanded, “Do you get whisky dick?”

Ollie spat his champagne out into a fine mist all over Emil and Tess while Chloe let out a whoop. She laughed so hard, she flopped onto Ollie’s lap.

"Whiskey what?" Clark asked. His hands gripped her thighs, ostensibly to keep Lois secure in the moving vehicle but she knew he just loved her legs. He told her so just the other night when she had them wrapped around his neck.

"Whisky dick," Lois repeated. "Y’know, when guys can’t get it up if they’ve had too much to drink. I’m never gonna see you drunk ever again so, we need to figure this out now. For science."

"For science!" Chloe and Emil chorused, their champagne held high. It only took them four tries to successfully clink glasses for their toast.

"I just want to see Clark’s dick," said Tess.

"It is, I shit you not, life altering," said Lois. "There should be pornographic sonnets. Odes. Mother fucking epic ballads in five parts. No offense, Ollie."

Ollie dipped his head and champagne glass towards them. “I’m secure enough in my manhood to admit that were I to ever see Clark buckass nude, I would probably only have to think about it for five minutes before ultimately deciding to hit that.”

"You guys are so incestuous," said Emil.

"Oh you love it!" Tess said, slapping his arm.

Clark was red to his knuckles during the entire conversation but he managed not to hide in Lois’ neck. Lois ground down on him.

"It doesn’t feel like you do," she said, her mouth close to his ear.

"Wooo-hooo!" Chloe and Tess traded high fives.

"I whispered that!" Lois said.

"Please, coz, you haven’t had an indoor voice since you were in the womb," said Chloe. "Drunk, you might as well be holding a megaphone."

"I have nothing to be ashamed of!" said Lois, indignant. "My fiancé has SUCH an amazing penis! It’s… It’s AMAZING! It’s sooooo… amazing. Imma tell everyone!"

And she clambered up on Clark’s lap to get to the moonroof above them. Somehow, her numbed fingers were able to slide the glass open and she stood, arms spread wide as though embracing all of Greater Metropolis.

"Clark Kent’s penis is AMAAAAZI—"

Clark pulled her down, choking on laughter or embarrassment, Lois didn’t know but he was so damned edible, she just had to kiss him all over his adorable face of adorableness.

"I love you so much," she said between kisses. "So, so much. With all the muchness."

"I love you, too, Lois," Clark said. At least, that’s what Lois thought he said; his throat was kind of full with her tongue.

"I should be a lot more traumatized by this than I am," said Ollie.

"Cousin and best friend," said Chloe. "I should be in thera—- Lois Joanne Lane, where the fuck are your hands, young lady?!"

Clark let out a squeak. His hands came up to grip the handholds on either side of the car. Lois’ were still nowhere to be seen.

Emil leaned over to refill Ollie and Chloe’s glasses. “As the medical professional in this group, I prescribe a little medicinal ethanol.”

They chugged.

Tess chugged a little more then melted into Emil’s side. “I guess science has proven Kent doesn’t get whisky dick. Next experiment: does Lane get hooch cooch?”


End file.
